Eight Lives
by HollyinSanest
Summary: "Slate was right about you, you know", she was already walking away from him, her back turned away to hide her expression that might betray her emotional state to him. "Right about what?" he shot back. "That you're never a changed man, Booker DeWitt, not after everything that have happened".
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: I don't own any of these (all characters, some places, etc.) With the Songs of New Beginnings coming on well, I've been thinking about writing another on the Infinite verse and with another DLC coming up (watched the trailer yet?) So, I scraped up some time and got this piece together. **

**You may remember this from the bonus promo chapter I stuck into my other Infinite fanfic.**

**Here goes.**

**Eight Lives**

**Prologue**

**Year 2013, Fink Industries Incorporated**

"Y'know with all the running we've been doing, those guys never seem to quit", Booker yelled past the thundering barks of gunshots. If Fitzroy had been right, they were in deeper waters than they had thought though he wasn't going to put that much money on one woman's word.

Turning around, he caught Anna's attention.

"Care to do the honours?" he gestured at the men. The woman flicked away stray strands of hazel coloured curls from her face.

"Damn well I do", she said through gritted teeth. "Make some I can use".

"Sure", he winked, flashing out his Sig and started shooting through the fray. This time, it wasn't for distraction. Booker would've have been through a phase once where he didn't favour killing without a reason. Apparently, he did feel sorry for those who didn't quite deserve to die in such a fashion. Now, it was different. These goons had hurt the people, especially the people he'd cared for the most. This time it was personal.

"Your turn!" Booker ducked aside, letting her take over.

"Hell, yeah!" She crowed, raising a hand. The dead bodies rose, attacking their companions. More screams and gunfire ensued. It gave them time to finish the remainder of Fink's hired goons. Once the dust and blood settled, he watched over her as she did a once over the dead bodies of the guards.

"You haven't gone rusty, not a bit", Booker remarked. He had never known that she was capable of such a feat. Once she took on only small time jobs-raising the dead takes a heavy toll on someone even if it was for the purpose of giving closure to loved ones. So, that old carnie trick weren't getting old.

Or was Fitzroy right when she said that he was just getting sentimental.

"Found it", she showed him one of the key cards that some of the security carried around. If they were going to carry out a rescue mission, it would make sense if they did it better than the next guy. He was pretty sure that Comstock might want his adopted daughter back once word gets around of the girl's abilities. That's why Anna was involved, he wouldn't have had brought his case to her unless it was personal, for the both of them.

"That's what you get for all the skeletons in the closet", he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

Before he could take a further step, she placed a hand against his chest. "You know she's hardly a skeleton. She's a person, Booker, unless you need Daisy to give you a lecture on human rights-and, frankly, you don't want her to get started on the touchy bits".

"Fine by me. We'll get past this together eventually", he told her confidently.

"Yeah, and she's going to ask a whole lot of questions. Don't you think we've got more explaining to do than Comstock?" Anna asked. "We do need to face the truth".

"Are you sure you're not channelling Fitzroy?" he smirked.

"Slate was right about you, you know", she was already walking away from him, her back turned away to hide her expression that might betray her emotional state to him.

"Right about what?" he shot back.

"_That you're never a changed man, Booker DeWitt, not after everything that have happened"._

**Author's Note: Curious? … Or Curiouser?**


	2. Chapter 1: Things We Count On

**Author's Note: Characters and places ain't mine. **

**Eight Lives **

**Things We Count On**

*Prescript from the New Columbia Times, XX –XX–20XX-obtained from the archives of the New Columbia City Hall

**ANARCHIST FITZROY DETAINED FOR QUESTIONING**

Due to the riots that broke out in front of the Hall of Heroes Exhibition Centre, New Columbia's Special Forces have finally detained a Miss Daisy Fitzroy, suspected terrorist who may be responsible for the establishment of the cult movement called the Vox Populi. Fitzroy was caught on an exit pass and even with the short exchange of gunfire, New Columbia Special Forces finally coaxed Fitzroy into turning herself in without causing further implications that could-

*The rest of the report is blocked by a heavy black print over the words, courtesy of the government's influence on the city's records.

**Year 2013, New Columbia**

Robert Lutece had been a pioneer in his field of science. If only they did call it science, to many people, it may be no more than something out of a fiction paperback or a B-rated movie. He can't be sure which. Many would have presumed it would have been impossible to build a machine that could travel through time, some may have even wished that there was such a thing but to actually finally conquer a thing such as time; it was no longer a theory on paper for him. He had actually done it. Now, he couldn't close the door that he had opened.

Rule number one; never ever show your newest time travelling creation to the government. And a hint that shows how much rule number one should be taken seriously, how about government forces hovering outside your laboratory, demanding a way in so that they could cart off your new invention to weaponize it.

Too good to be true either.

Yet, there were still men outside, men with guns who were threatening to shoot through the door unless he opened it. It wouldn't take long for some qualified hacker to figure a way through his security system.

"Lutece, open this door immediately", a voice he recognised came from outside.

"Damn you and your men to hell, Comstock", Robert yelled back, while hurriedly gathering papers that he would consider important for the research. "I'm through with your bullshit".

He looked around for a way of disposing such papers. If they hadn't gotten their hands on the manuals and operational methods to the machine, there would be no way for them to restart whatever he was trying to bury. He just needed some time.

"T'hell with this", he snarled, gathering the lot of all his life's hard work and dumping it into what he called a Tear in the middle of the suspended platform of the machine. The rest of it was meant to be worthless, all just the initial stages of the development-all meant to be failures. Just as he was stepping through the Tear, the door to his laboratory burst open with men sporting heavy ammunition thundering in like bulls on a stampede. He noticed that they formed a close position around the machine and him, guns trained on his chest.

"Don't think about it, Lutece. Now be a good boy and come over here", Comstock entered, his deceivingly kind hearted illusions no longer worked now that Robert had learnt the truth. If there was a special place in hell, he was sure that Zachary Comstock would fit right in.

"Not a chance", Robert said. Just before he could press the control in his hand that could shut the machine down, he felt as if a red hot poker was being jammed straight through his chest. Then, there was another. And another. The initial shock of being shot made enough time for Comstock to cross the distance towards Robert.

With his last gasp of the air from his original world, Robert bid a silent goodbye and activated the immediate shut down sequence.

Comstock's hand grasped onto nothing but empty air. Where Robert Lutece stood was now nothing but the last traces of the crisp pollutionless air coming from the Tear. With a shout of frustration, Comstock turned to his men.

"Clear out the place, I need full damage report of our failure today", he shouted.

Somewhere else, a dying Robert Lutece watches the clearest sky he has ever seen as he uttered his last words to his former existence (which at this moment should be unsaid for he was in his own audience) and lay witness to an adventure he had never been willing to experience before. Now, he has got not much of a choice but to take such a path.

**Year 2014, New Columbia **

She stepped out of the elevator warily, knuckles going white from clutching her bag too tightly. This was where she was supposed to be, if she needed to prevent the disaster from ever happening. Even if she knew it would take more than showing what she was capable of to convince him in lending a hand. The office was a little under kept-walls that needed painting and a pile of old newspapers that were dated from last year. There doesn't seem to be any other tenants than the lone occupied office ahead of her. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't, yet options were already running out. Making sure that she looked presentable enough that she would give a good first impression, she knocked on the door.

No answer.

She knocked again, straining to hear any noises that might come from the inside that could possibly be a sign of the man she was looking for. Trying to peer through the tinted glass was no good either.

"Hello, I'm looking for DeWitt. Booker DeWitt?" she called out. "Anybody here?"

_No one_

Sighing, she deposited her bag on the floor with a heavy thump. Leaning against the wall beside the door, she prepared herself for a long wait just when the elevator door opened with a cheerful ding. A man who looked to be in his thirties walked stepped out. He didn't look odder than any normal person at the street but there was something about him that she can't quite put her finger on. But he was the one she was looking for. She needed him.

"Um, Mister DeWitt?" she asked, keeping her voice as calm as she could.

He looked up at her, surprise showing a little through his controlled expression. He reined it in immediately, subtly glancing behind to check to see if he had been followed. When he approached her, she could see the suspicion in his green eyes. In a manner of considering whether it was worthwhile in treating her that she wasn't worth talking to, he unlocked the door to his office and was going to leave her out there when he gave a moment's pause.

"You coming in or what?" he grunted, avoiding any eye contact. She knew he had a good heart. That was why he's running his business to the ground by being picky on the cases he took in.

She stood by the door, unsure of her next move.

"Close that door", he ordered, settling down on the chair behind the desk (being the only sole piece of furniture in the room besides the dingy wooden chair which he offered to her). She did as she was told and finally approached to sit opposite him. Reading him wasn't as easy, he wasn't exactly an open book.

"It's ten per hour for the initial, any progress and you'll have to add a fiver to the subsequent fee, per hour of course. Now why would you ever need a private investigator? Cheating boyfriend? Someone stalking you?" Booker asked, eyeing her warily.

"You're too quick to assume, Mister DeWitt", she told him. "I am here on a much more particular case. Are you familiar with the Lutece theory?"

"Enlighten me", Booker gestured with a wave of his hand.

"This is of utmost importance. But I can't give you any more specific details",she started. "I need your help to find a man named Robert Lutece".

"You mean the physicist who disappeared. Why the hell would I want to do that?" he scoffed.

She stood up, frowning at his attitude. "This isn't something to laugh about, Mister DeWitt. This all sort of dangerous. Someone I know has opened a door that can't be closed and if we don't do anything sooner, the world will end".

"You know I heard some birdbrain talk about the world ending two years ago, it didn't happen. What makes it possible this time, kid? Look it's probably just some lie to keep people on their toes, it won't happen", he assured her with a forced smile. "Go home to your folks before they worry".

"No, I won't", she folded her arms rather crossly. "The world will come to an end soon and when that happens, no one else can do anything about it. I need your help. Look, if money's an issue, I can get some but it'll take some time. But I would be willing to triple your fee".

"Alright, miss", he stood up, "What do I call you?"

"Elizabeth Stock but Elizabeth alone is just fine".

**Author's Note: What do you think?**


End file.
